Maybe We Can Find New Ways To Fall Apart
by RemyDico5
Summary: John and Sherlock have just started to regain some normalcy at Baker Street when not only is Jim back from the dead but they have The Woman to deal with as well. A retelling of A Scandal in Belgravia. Sequel to What is Deserved and What is Owed
1. Left Behind

Jim stepped into the room, the lights dimmed just as he had requested. The room was much lower quality than he was used to but since he wouldn't be sleeping there, it didn't really matter. He made his way over to the bed, his company for the night already naked and cast in shadow, obscuring his face.

"I assume everything has been explained to you?" Jim neatly removed his suit jacket. He went to put it on the chair but made a face in disgust. Even with the lights mostly off he could see what a dump the place was. He didn't want his high quality fabric touching such filth. Instead he hung it up in the closet where it wasn't touching anything except the hanger.

"Yes."

"Don't." Jim hissed, cutting the man off, whipping his head around quickly. "I thought everything was explained."

"You asked –"

"Shut up." Jim hollered and the man was cowed into silence. "You're ruining it. If I ask you a question, you will nod or shake your head. Don't make me get creative on what to do with your tongue should you disobey my rules again."

The man nodded and waited for Jim's instructions. Jim carefully removed the rest of his clothes, keeping his socks on so his feet wouldn't touch the dirty floor. Making his way over to the bed, Jim stood beside it and closed his eyes. Slowly, he rotated his neck and tried to calm himself.

_"I think I'm in love with you." _

Jim smiled and brought his hand down, teasing his fingers over his flaccid prick.

_ "__I still want you to touch me and kiss me and fuck me.__" _

He grasped himself more tightly and gave himself one long stroke. His cock started to show some interest.

"Come here and suck me." Jim ordered and heard the bed shift. Warm lips were wrapped around the head of his cock and it began to harden further. "Don't look up at me. I don't want to see your face."

Jim opened his eyes and looked down, seeing nothing but dark blond hair. He smiled happily and ran his fingers through it, curling his fingers over the nape of the man's neck.

"_It doesn't make sense but it feels like love." _

"John." Jim moaned as his cock filled completely. He pushed the man off him. "You've done as I asked?"

The man nodded and Jim arranged him on the bed just as he wanted him; face down in the pillows with his arse up in the air. Positioning himself behind him, Jim pushed inside the already stretched hole. The body shape was completely wrong, hips a little too slender and the stomach too flat. So Jim concentrated on the hair, almost a perfect match.

"Don't turn around, if I see your face, you'll regret it." Jim warned as he began to thrust. His eyes fluttered closed and he lost himself in sensations, John's words swirling through his mind.

"_We've got as much time as we want."_

_ "You're not a monster Jim and I'm not going to treat you like one."_

_ "Please Jim, I love you, just stay with me, I love you." _

Jim's eyes snapped open and something like a sob choked its way from his throat. His fingernails dug into skin and he was so close to coming. He stared at that blond head of hair and could see his old flat so vividly that he felt as if he were back there. He groaned as he felt his balls tighten; just thinking about being back at his flat with John was enough to get him there.

Then the man he was with twisted to look at Jim, the illusion shattering. His flat fell away along with any fantasy of John being there. Jim let out a roar of frustration and reached for the knife he kept in his sock. In one swift move, he grabbed that perfect hair and forced the man up, slitting his throat in one quick movement. There was a gurgling noise as the man choked on his own blood. The sight of blood splattering against the wall was enough to finish Jim off but his orgasm wasn't nearly as thrilling as the kill had been.

He let the fake John fall onto the bed, his cock slipping out of him as he went down. Calmly, Jim went to the closet and grabbed his expensive brand of underwear, slipping them on. Retrieving his phone from his jacket pocket, he dialed Moran and waited for the call to connect.

"Jim?" Moran asked, sounding groggy from sleep. "Something wrong?"

"Clean up on aisles twelve." Jim responded, going into the bathroom. He used his own handkerchief – wetting it in the sink – to clean the blood off of his face. He didn't trust the hotel towels after seeing the state of the room.

"Damn it Jim, again? This is the third time this week." Moran complained but Jim could hear him getting dressed and ready in the background.

"It's not my fault if they can't follow a few simple instructions."

"You know, if you keep this up we're going to attract unwanted attention." Moan chastised him. Jim hated being lectured.

"Nevermind that, tell me where we are with Irene."

"Apparently Sherlock and John already broke into Irene's home. Taxi!" Moan shouted and Jim held the phone away from his ear for a moment until the shouting stopped. "She managed to keep them from getting the phone. The Americans got involved."

"Ah yes of course, typical Mycroft. Send the Americans in to do his dirty work. The Americans kill Irene and Mycroft gets the phone. He's the hero and wasn't it a shame those American ruffians just happen to get involved." Jim sneered, turning off the bathroom light as he left and went to the closet to retrieve his clothes. If Moran was already en route, it meant he would be there within ten minutes. Jim wanted to be gone before then.

"From what I can tell he had no choice letting them in on this." Moran informed Jim, murmuring quietly so he wasn't overheard by the taxi driver. "But I'm sure he appreciates the extra muscle."

"Sherlock, John and the Americans were all in her house and she still managed to get away?" Jim almost giggled with how delicious it was.

"She is impressive sir."

"And such fun too." If he wasn't holding a phone, Jim would have clapped his hands together with glee. "Do remind me to talk shop with her once we get a quiet moment. I think I'm going to need it once I'm back on the scene."

"So you're still planning on informing Watson that you're alive."

"Of course I am." Jim frowned at himself in the closet mirror as he did up his shirt. "It's the whole point of this endeavor."

"It isn't just to fuck with Holmes and his brother? Get them back for trying to kill you and making you fake your death."

"Just an added bonus darling, not the main objective."

He heard Moran sigh; the man probably hadn't even tried to hide it. He'd made his feelings about this plan perfectly clear and Jim had ignored them. "I'm five minutes out." Moran changed the subject knowing he wouldn't convince Jim of anything.

"I'll be gone in two. If I stay here longer I think I might catch something." Jim responded and hung up. He slipped his tie on, expertly doing it up before slipping on his jacket.

He left the door unlocked for Moran (not that he couldn't break in easily enough but why waste the time?) and strolled out of the hotel. Things were progressing nicely with Irene and all according to schedule. The woman really was a marvel. He'd have to ask her how John looked when she'd seen him. But until then he brought up all the footage he had from Irene's house and watched it as he walked. He chuckled at Sherlock's preposterous disguise as a vicar.

All laughing stopped when he heard one of the Americans say "On the count of three, shoot Doctor Watson." Jim held the phone so tightly that the screen looked about ready to crack. He would make certain they paid for that little judgment error. Jim hadn't gone to all this trouble just to see John shot by some CIA thug.

Still, John was alive and things were on track. At this rate Jim would make himself known to John in just under two weeks. He couldn't help smiling at that. Just in time for the New Year.

XXXX

John couldn't tell you why he hated Irene Adler so vehemently. Maybe it was because she seemed to be playing Sherlock so expertly. Maybe it was Sherlock's reaction to her. The fact that she could reduce Sherlock to a babbling mess so easily had John just a little bit steamed.

They weren't together, Sherlock and John, not technically. Sherlock still had his aversion to sex and so they didn't have sex. But they kissed and sometimes they would cuddle. John slept in Sherlock's bed more often than not, just to sleep, nothing more. However John was a sexual being and although he had tried to get along with just masturbation, he soon grew sick of his left hand. He craved the warmth of a human body against his own. He'd had a string of girlfriends but none of them quite knew how to deal with his and Sherlock's odd relationship. Truthfully, John himself didn't know how to deal with his and Sherlock's relationship.

The trickiest part about it was that John was, for all intents and purposes, in love with Sherlock. They worked well together and every time they were even a little bit affectionate, John would get this warm feeling spreading through his chest. But Sherlock was still Sherlock so those moments came few and far between.

So John was not wholly surprised when Jeanette went the way of all his other girlfriends, out the door, never to return. He wasn't too terribly upset about it. It had been nice having someone but he couldn't blame her for leaving. But she would have been a welcome distraction from Sherlock and whatever was going on between him and Irene.

John didn't like being jealous; it wasn't a feeling he was comfortable with. However he could recognize it for what it was. If Sherlock didn't do sex then why had a naked woman affected him to greatly? If sex plus Sherlock equaled nothing but Sherlock plus naked woman equaled Sherlock is an incoherent mess, clearly John was missing something in the equation. Perhaps it wasn't sex Sherlock had an aversion to, but sex with John.

He didn't know what to feel when Irene turned up dead. He knew a large part of it was relief that their lives could go back to normal, or as normal as it ever got at Baker street. Yet it felt like Sherlock had had something important taken away from him. It was certainly how he was behaving, playing his violin and not eating, basically pining away for a woman he hardly knew. Why had her death made such an impact when Sherlock had only met her for about ten minutes?

Why did John continue to loathe her even after she was dead and gone? Well John knew better than anyone that feelings didn't end in death, at least not for those left behind.


	2. A New Year

"I'm sorry."

It was the first words Sherlock had spoken all day and John wasn't even sure they were meant for him. So instead of answering, he finished placing breakfast on the table, wary of the fact that Sherlock might not be eating. It seemed Sherlock was still stuck staring wistfully out of the window, lost in his melancholia.

"About Janet or whatever her name was." Sherlock clarified, turning away from the window.

"Oh, are you speaking to me?" John asked sarcastically. "You've deemed me worthy of speech again, have you?"

"I needed to think." Sherlock informed him shortly, narrowing his eyes.

"What, about Irene Adler?"

"The case is unsolved John."

"What difference does it make Sherlock, she's dead." John snapped, letting his temper get the best of him. He let his breath out in a huff of air and then plopped down into his seat, pulling it closer to the table violently.

"Why do you dislike her so much?"

"I don't know." John answered honestly. "I wish I did but I don't. But thank you for your fake concern about my break up with Janette."

Sherlock dropped his violin, letting it hang down by his sides. "I don't understand."

John snorted with derision. The things Sherlock didn't understand could fill Baker Street. Sometimes it was just willful ignorance and other times it was being unable to grasp human emotions. Still, for as brilliant Sherlock was, the gap in his knowledge was huge.

John picked at his breakfast, somewhat less enthused about it than he had been before. Somehow his appetite had left him. He chewed his food but could hardly taste it, each bite getting harder to swallow. "You're going to have to be more specific there love. What don't you understand?"

"Why she was necessary. Why did you need her or any of the others when you have me?"

John slammed his fork back onto the table, making it clatter against his plate. Between the whole Irene debacle and his sexual frustration, John was on the edge, ready to snap at any moment. "You know why."

"Why aren't I enough for you?" Sherlock asked in aggravation.

John shoved his chair back and stood up. His jaw was clenched so tight he could hear his teeth grinding together. He kept reminding himself that hitting Sherlock really wasn't going to solve anything but damn, did he really want to punch _something._

"You don't get to ask me that, ever."

"Why not?" Sherlock asked, defiantly lifting his chin.

"Because it's not fair and you know it, especially when I am clearly not enough for you."

"What do you mean?" Sherlock tracked John's movements as if he anticipated that John wanted to hit him. With his violin in one hand and his bow in the other, he wasn't exactly ready for a counter-attack unless he wanted to risk breaking his bow.

"This Sherlock." John gestured to Sherlock. "What is this? You don't sleep, you don't talk, and you don't eat. You're composing for her? If I was really all you needed, then explain Irene Adler to me. Explain why you're…" John struggled to find the right word to encompass how Sherlock had been behaving the past week. "Pining."

He seemed to have struck a nerve. Sherlock's eyes lowered to the ground and John could see him folding in on himself, his shoulders slumping. It was amazing that someone so tall could manage to look so small, like a kicked puppy. It never failed to make John feel horrible about himself. Sherlock had suffered a loss, John might not have understood it, but it was still a loss. And here he was attacking Sherlock for finally caring about someone just because that someone hadn't turned out to be him.

"She was interesting." Sherlock spoke softly, his body turned slightly away from John.

"Sherlock, you think serial killers are interesting but you don't behave like this when one of them dies. So what is it about her that's different?"

"She was a challenge."

"I'm sorry. I know you and caring aren't exactly good company. It's good that you've found someone you care about." John stepped closer and gave Sherlock's arm a pat of condolences. Whatever else he felt about Irene Adler, at least she had helped make Sherlock a little more human and that was always a good thing.

Sherlock switched his bow to the other hand so he could grab John's wrist and tug him closer. "I've got someone I care about." He murmured, bringing his head down to capture John's lips. John welcomed the kiss gladly, having been a little starved from any kind of intimacy lately. He pushed up onto his tiptoes and sucked greedily on Sherlock's full lower lip.

He pulled away when the strain in his neck started to be too much and he could feel Sherlock getting uncomfortable. Giving one last, quick kiss, John buried his face against Sherlock's soft sleep shirt, well worn and smelling of him. "God, how I wish this were enough."  
Sherlock rested his chin on the top of John's head and wrapped his free arm around John, holding him in place. "Me too."

XXXX

"I'm not actually gay." John insisted to Irene. He realized the irony of this sentence, considering he'd been kissing his very male flatmate earlier. But it wasn't a lie either. He had girlfriends, he liked women, he did not consider himself gay. There had been men in the mix but only two of them had ever really mattered. And quite frankly, his sexual orientation was none of her fucking business, thank you very much.

He was so furious at her for being alive, not for himself, but on Sherlock's behalf. After all the trouble she'd caused, all the emotional damage, and she didn't even have the decency to be actually dead. God, how was he going to tell Sherlock that Irene was alive? Would he even be able to stomach the relief he knew he'd see on Sherlock face?

"That's not what I've heard." Irene said with a knowing smile.

John bristled. "And just where are you getting your information?"

"From me." A voice came from the shadows. John squinted to get a look at who had spoken but couldn't see anyone. He turned to look around and didn't hear the person approach as much as he felt their presence behind him. Immediately going into soldier mode, John tensed and prepared himself to attack or counter-attack whomever this new threat was.

But when he turned around, the punch he had been meaning to throw fell limply at his side as he looked into the familiar face of James Moriarty.

XXXX

Jim had been waiting for this moment. He'd been savoring it, standing in the shadows and listening to John talk. Of all the things to miss about John, he never thought his voice would make it high up on the list. But since it was the only part of John he had, voice was ranking pretty fucking high at the moment.

Jim was waiting for his cue; after all he was still the consulting criminal. He couldn't just walk in any old time. He had a reputation to uphold. But God how he wanted to reveal himself right away and take John somewhere secluded to get reacquainted. But he doubted John would go for it and Jim didn't want to start off their new relationship with kidnapping John. Talk about getting off on the wrong foot.

But the waiting was insufferable. He has to applaud Irene's dramatic flair but honestly! It had been nine months since he'd seen John and here he was still waiting and waiting. The kidnapping option was seeming a lot more tolerable than what he was currently going through.

"You were dead." Lost in thought, John's words pierced through his reverie and for a moment Jim thought they were directed at him. But there was no way John could see him, hidden in the dark, he'd made certain of that. The anger in John's voice was apparent and he took a step forward, a barely noticeable threat. The step put him directly in Jim's line of sight and he shivered. John was so close it made Jim ache.

"We're not a couple." Jim had to brace himself against the wall to keep from falling. Was John lying to Irene? Jim had seen them together at his grave, he had pictures from CCTV of them kissing. If they weren't a couple, what the hell were they?

Jim felt dizzy with anticipation. If Irene didn't give him an in, he'd just have to make one. The two of them kept blathering on while Jim sat there doing nothing. He couldn't hold out much longer.

"That's not what I heard." Irene said and Jim felt that was as good of a moment as any. He straightened his tie and made sure his suit was perfect before stepping out.

"And just where are you getting your information?"

Just like Johnny to give Jim the perfect opening. Jim smiled and spoke. "From me."

He walked out from his hiding spot but John had turned, searching for the voice that had spoken. Each step that brought him closer to John made something unfurl in his chest. He could smell John's shampoo, still the same brand. The brownish-red coat he was wearing appeared to be new. There were a few more grey strands in his hair but most of it was still dark blond.

John turned and Jim's breath hitched as he came face to face with the man he'd been waiting for. John hand fell to his side as he realized Jim was alive. "Hello Johnny." Jim smiled warmly, wanting to close the distance between them.

"You. You're…how…" John stuttered in shock, his eyes the size of dinner plates. Jim could see the lovely dark blue of his eyes clearly, the one's he'd been dreaming about for the past nine months. Jim's own eyes darted around, taking in all the changes to John. When he couldn't stand the lack of contact anymore, he stepped forward and cupped John's cheek.

John reached forward and grabbed Jim by the lapels of his suit jacket, pulling him in close. Jim was expecting the feeling of lips on his but instead got the familiar feeling of John's fist connecting with his face. By the third punch, Jim had fallen to his knees and was laughing around the blood filling his mouth.

"I'll just leave you boys to it." Irene said, backing away slowly, not wanting to get involved. From the manic look in John's eyes, Jim couldn't really blame her. Besides, that meant it was just him and John, which was how he wanted it.

"You absolute bastard." John shouted, still gripping the front of Jim's clothes so tightly that Jim had no hope of escaping.

Jim spat some blood onto the floor and grinned up at his ex-lover. "Oh Johnny, I didn't know you cared. I didn't think you'd be so affected."

"You didn't think –" John ground out, his fist tightening. "I've spent the last nine months of my life mourning you and this whole time you've been alive?"

"Yes but I can explain."

John pulled Jim to his feet and slammed him into the nearest wall. Jim winced. This wasn't how he had been expecting this reunion to go.

"I don't want to hear." John growled, shaking his head. "I don't care how you survived, I don't care why you're back, I don't want to see you again."

"I thought you'd be a bit more relieved I wasn't dead." Jim replied honestly, managing to get out of John's hold. He fixed his suit, his neatly pressed button up was completely rumpled.

"Relieved?" John asked incredulously. "Relieved that I wasted the last nine months hating myself because I thought I was the reason you were dead? Nine months of visiting a grave you weren't even buried in? Relieved that I've had nightmares after you made me _watch you die in my arms."_

"I had my reasons."

"And I don't give a toss about what they are. You leave me the fuck alone Jim, I mean it. Don't call me, don't text, don't come round, I don't want to see you."

"You can't mean that." Jim blinked at him, confused by this turn of events. He probably should have been expecting this; John wasn't exactly the type to fall into his arms. But he was expecting sex at some point. "I came back for you."  
"Then you should have stayed gone." John turned on his heel and began to walk away. Seeing John's retreating back set off a panic inside Jim and he followed him. Grabbing him by the arm, he shoved John against the wall and crashed their lips together. His recollection of John's lips were a pale comparison to the real thing.

Jim poured as much into the kiss as he could, sucking and biting at the wonderful thin lips that had been haunting him for nine months. He felt a sort of satisfaction when he felt John begin to kiss him back. He pushed his fingers up into John's hair and pressed his body in as tightly as possible.

The kiss was like chaos, a swirling, dangerous hurricane brewing between them. Their lips surging and crashing together in violent waves of ecstasy. It feels like anarchy, Jim's body and mind racing into overdrive with such hunger and want that it might very well consume him.

John shoved him away so hard that Jim stumbled and fell painfully on his tailbone. "Kissing me is not going to change my mind." John snarled, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. "Any chance you had with me died on that rooftop."

Jim giggled but tried to cover it with his hand. His stubborn little army doctor, he wouldn't want him any other way. "Don't start off our little reunion by telling lies Johnny, it's unbecoming."

"I'm not lying." John responded with conviction. He seemed to believe what he was saying even if Jim knew better.

"If you say so." Jim shrugged, casually reclining on the floor with his legs crossed at the ankles, looking as if he didn't have a care in the world.

"I'm serious Jim, you stay away from me and Sherlock."

"Or what?" Jim taunted, grinning wickedly. "Will you punish me?"

"You really don't want to find out the answer to that question."

"I really think I do."

"Goodbye Jim."

"Till next time Johnny." Jim called after John's retreating form. "Oh and a Happy New Year."

XXXX

New Year's Day brought the rain with it, large droplets pelting against their window. John felt content and warm under his duvet, sharing body heat with Sherlock. He snuggled up closer, resting his head on Sherlock's chest.

"Hm." Sherlock hummed sleepily. "What are you doing?"

Sherlock's voice was at least an octave deeper in the morning and John could swear he'd never heard anything so bloody sexy in all his life. It was just his luck that Sherlock wasn't interested.

"Having a lie-in." John kissed Sherlock's chest through his shirt before smiling against it.

"Your erection is poking into my side."

"Bothered?"

"Not overtly." Sherlock answered, his hand trailing down John's torso and cupping him through his boxers.

"Now what are you doing?" John asked, unable to keep himself from pressing into Sherlock's hand. Sherlock began to rub and John hid his face in Sherlock's shoulder as he moaned wantonly. It had been too bloody long.

"No, don't do that."

"Do what?" John mumbled into the hollow of Sherlock's throat.

"Hide from me." Sherlock told him, flipping them so John was on his back with Sherlock looming over him. His dark curls were wild in the morning and John found himself smiling at the sight. He reached up and brushed Sherlock's fringe off of his forehead. "I thought you didn't…"

"I don't. I have no interest in receiving pleasure."

"Then what are you – "

"Giving it, on the other hand." Sherlock pulled John's pants down to mid-thigh, causing his erection to spring up. John watched in awe as Sherlock's rather large hand wrapped around his cock. Their lips met and John couldn't even worry about if he had morning breath considering the wonderful thing that was currently happening to his genitals. "I'm not an idiot John, I know I could never hope to keep you if I don't change a few things."

"I don't want you to change." John grabbed blindly towards the nightstand and retrieved the lubricant, handing it to Sherlock. It was a bit too dry to be truly pleasurable. He took the message and coated his hand.

John hissed at the cold as Sherlock's hand came back in contact. Sherlock removed his hand yet again, making John whimper in frustration. Sherlock rubbed his hands together to warm up the gel and when he was satisfied, he started wanking John again.

"Oh fuck Sherlock." John arched his back, placing his feet on the bed and opening his legs so Sherlock could settle easily between them.

"You require sexual intercourse in your relationships. I don't want to endure another insipid girlfriend of yours. This seems a reasonable compromise."

"Fucking hell Sherlock, I don't want you to do this if you don't want to. You're not under any obligation to – Fuck."

Sherlock had slipped one finger inside John with no preamble or warning. John tilted his head back and gripped the headboard. It had been much too long since he'd done any kind of anal play and he pushed greedily down against Sherlock's probing finger.

"Actually, I find it quite fascinating." Sherlock replied, curling his finger in his quest to find that one spot.

"More. Jesus Christ Sherlock, please."

Another finger joined the first one and Sherlock's hand on John's cock sped up, concentrating on just the head. John's eyes fluttered closed as both of Sherlock's thumbs went to work, one massaging John's perineum and the other circling the tip of his cock. John's chest heaved as he panted, his mouth unable to shut with his need for oxygen, gulping in air as if he'd never get enough into his lungs.

"Shit. Fucking hell Sherlock." John buried his face in the crook of his elbow, feeling close to orgasm already.

"What did I say about hiding?" Sherlock asked, the tone of his voice surprising John into opening his eyes. Sherlock was staring at him like he did a fascinating crime scene. It should have been unnerving but to have Sherlock's full concentration was strangely hot. "I want to see it when it happens."

"You won't have to wait long." John informed him, his body beginning to tremble with the need to come. Then Sherlock's fingers brushed against his prostate and John keened, his cock pulsing in Sherlock's hand, come spurting out and covering his belly.

"There it is." Sherlock said smugly as he continued to stroke John until it bordered on painful. When John got his senses back, he pushed Sherlock's hand away and Sherlock looked hurt by it.

"Too sensitive." John told him with a reassuring smile. He reached for the tissues and half-heartedly cleaned himself off. He needed a shower anyway.

"Ah." Sherlock nodded. "So it was satisfactory then?" Sherlock bit his lip, his eyes hopeful.

"That doesn't even begin to cover it." John wrapped his hand around the nape of Sherlock's neck and brought him down for a kiss. He could feel Sherlock's hard cock pressing against him as they snogged. "Are you sure you don't want me to take care of that?" John said softly against Sherlock's mouth. "You could fuck me, if you wanted."

"No thank you."

John snorted at Sherlock's politeness when turning down sex. He couldn't manage politeness in any other facet of life but he could be courteous in the bedroom.

"I know you're a very unselfish lover, you prefer to get your partners off before allowing yourself to orgasm. You can be selfish with me."

"You're going to get bored with it." John said, a bit sadly. "I know it's new and exciting now but sooner rather than later, the idea of getting me off is going to become a chore. It's not something you want."

"I want you here at Baker Street, not off with someone who can give you what I can't."

"There's just one problem with your brilliant idea Sherlock."

"What's that?"

"It isn't about being unselfish, it's that I like giving people pleasure as much as receiving it myself. I don't know if I could be in a relationship with someone who won't let me touch them."

"I let you touch me."

"Not anywhere that counts. You don't trust me."

"I trust you more than anyone I've ever met."

"Not enough to let go in front of me. Just what is it that you're afraid of?"

Sherlock flopped onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. John propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at his flatmate, waiting for an answer. Sherlock refused to look at him directly, keeping his eyes fixed forward.

"Losing myself. Losing myself in it, in you. I don't want sex to change me. I quite like myself the way I am."

John smiled and bent down to kiss the corner of Sherlock's mouth. "You've had orgasms before though."

"Never in front of anyone. It feels like it would be different…somehow. Getting myself off, it's up to me to put myself back together."

"What about Irene Adler? She is a professional, would you trust her to put you back together?" John did his best to keep any kind of jealousy out of his voice.

"If I can't trust myself enough to orgasm in front of you, what makes you think I could in front of her?" Sherlock scoffed, sitting up and collapsing in on himself, making him look impossibly small. "I know what oblivion feels like John, I used to seek it constantly. Now, I find the idea of not being in control of myself a frightening one."

"Okay." John put his arm around Sherlock and rested his head on his shoulder. "But just so you know, if you ever did feel safe enough to try, I would never let you fall apart."

"I know." Sherlock turned his head and kissed John's temple. Their quiet moment was shattered by John's phone making the text alert noise. He scooted across the bed to retrieve his phone from his trousers on the floor. It was from a number John didn't recognize.

_You didn't really think I'd give up that easily, did you? – JM_

"What is it?" Sherlock asked, sensing John's distress by the tension in his back. "What's wrong?"

John deleted the text without replying or saving the number on his phone. He'd meant what he'd said back at Battersea Power Station. Whatever he'd had with Jim was not going to be rekindled just because the consulting criminal had made a miraculous escape. It didn't matter what Jim did, John had no interest in him anymore. He'd put that all behind him, or at least he'd thought he had.

"It's Jim." He said, putting his phone on the nightstand and turning towards Sherlock. "He's alive."


	3. Pieces Of You

It started with a single red rose. John came home from the surgery, an entire day of runny noses and flu shots, looking to crash into bed and sleep for a week. But when he got to his room, a single red rose was resting on his pillow with the thorns still on. John had no doubt in his mind whom it was from. He delicately clasped it between two fingers and then carried it downstairs. He turned on the garbage disposal and chucked the flower in, listening to the satisfying crunch it made getting obliterated.

* * *

The gifts kept on coming, each one more expensive and outlandish than the last. And yet John heard nothing from the Consulting Criminal directly. There were no more texts, no more calls and John had been preparing himself for the eventual kidnapping. But all that came were more presents that John discarded of as quickly as possible.

However it seemed the more he threw them away, the more they came. Everything John put in the rubbish bin was replaced ten-fold. Jim should have just burned his money for all the good it was doing him. John was not a man to be bought, he thought Jim would have known that.

"Isn't that –" Sherlock said when they entered 221B after going out for food.

"Don't ask." John responded as they walked around a priceless Grecian statue that was supposed to be in the Louvre. John had no idea how Jim had pulled that off but after so thoroughly faking his own death, John wasn't about to underestimate Jim.

* * *

John turned on the news for some background noise while he got his afternoon tea started. He had just put the kettle on the boil and rummage around for some biscuits when something being said in the other room got his attention. He hurried into the sitting room in time to see the news story. At some point Sherlock had appeared as well and they stood together watching.

_"Panic in London over the crime of the century. One man, identified as James Moriarty has broken into the Tower of London and attempted to steal the Crown Jewels." _

"He wouldn't." John shook his head, staring at the telly in disbelief.

"He would." Sherlock poined to the screen just as Jim was being pushed into a police car.

"Jesus Christ, what is he thinking?" John noticed the tiniest smirk on Jim's face before he disappeared into the vehicle.

* * *

John got a call from Lestrade the next morning telling him that Jim wanted to speak with him. Reluctantly, John got his coat and went down the New Scotland Yard. Jim was being held in one of the cells, his hands and feet cuffed together to keep him from escaping. He had his head bowed, his body obscured by the shadows as John made his way over.

"Jim, what the hell are you doing?" John hissed as he pressed up against the bars of the cell.

"You came." Jim smiled sweetly and got to his feet. "I wasn't sure you would."

"I don't see how I had a choice. Lestrade said you're refusing to speak to the police."

"I don't waste my time talking to idiots." Jim sniffed loftily. "I really don't see how Sherlock stands it."

"Then why are you talking to me?"

"Oh, don't put yourself down like that Johnny. Low self-esteem is such an unattractive quality." Jim scolded and stepped out of the shadows.

"How is it you managed to steal from the Louvre but you can't break into the Tower of London without getting caught?" John asked something he'd been wondering ever since he'd seen Jim get arrested.

"Because he wanted to get caught."

Jim and John both turned to see Sherlock making his way towards them. "Goodness Johnny, does he follow you everywhere?"

"He's going to try and persuade you. It's all an act." Sherlock proceeded, ignoring Moriarty's jibes.

"Oh Sherlock darling, I forgot how quick you can be. Have you missed this as much as I have?" Moriarty asked, turning his head from side to side like some kind of deadly snake. "He's right, of course."

"How does your being in prison persuade me to do anything?" John asked, looking between the two genuises for an answer.

"It's quite simple. I want to see you. I didn't come back from the dead just to have you ignore me. I'm here to negotiate for time."

"And why would I give you any of mine?"

"Because if you don't, I'll go to prison for a long, long time. You wouldn't want that, now would you Johnny?" Jim made his large brown eyes as innocent looking as possible.

"Why wouldn't he?" Sherlock said defensively.

"That's true, maybe the best place for someone like me is behind bars. After all, I've been very naughty, haven't I? And I seem to remember John promising me conjugal visits." Jim smirked, wrapping his hand around the bar and moving it up and down suggestively.

"That was when you were dying." John spat out.

"Oh, I'm hurt to think you would break a promise simply because I managed to survive Sherlock and big brother trying to kill me."

"You're not getting John." Sherlock stepped between them, partially hiding John from view.

"You forget, I've already had John." Jim giggled as Sherlock's face turned red with anger.

"What is it you want?" John interrupted from behind Sherlock.

"I want time with you. That's all. Maybe you were telling the truth and you don't want to see me ever again. If you were serious about that, then I'll go to prison and you can live out the rest of your life knowing that the only reason I'm there is because I loved you too much. But, if you find that there is even the tiniest bit of you that doesn't want me locked up for possibly the rest of my life, I'll get myself out of this."

"How will you know which decision I've made?"

"If you do want to see me again, come to my trial and I'll know. If you don't, stay at home and that will be that."

"You wouldn't gamble your whole future on this." Sherlock said knowingly.

"You underestimate the power of love." Jim said jokingly.

"Why are you doing this?" John asked, wondering what kind of a game Moriarty was playing.

"Sorry, not telling." Jim mimed locking his lips and throwing away the key. "But I will tell you this, I'm playing to win."

John sighed and turned to go, Sherlock falling in step with him. They walked away listening as Jim sang from his cell. "_You know it's truuuue, everything I doooo, I do it for yooooou." _

* * *

John went to the trial. He couldn't have stayed home even if he'd wanted to. Part of it was just natural curiostiy of how Jim was going to get himself off the charges. After all he'd been caught red handed. The other part was him knowing the guilt he would feel if Jim went away just because of him. How Jim had managed to prey on John's sense of morality, John would never know.

He sat up in the stands and watched as the trial went on. In the middle of it, Jim turned around and grinned triumphantly at John. John kept his face stoic, not returning the smile. John had come to the trial yes, but it didn't mean what he believed Jim thought it did. It didn't mean they were getting back together. All it meant that John was giving Jim time.

* * *

John had no idea how Jim had done it, but he had been cleared of all charges. John was on the phone to Sherlock, telling him of the outcome when he was grabbed and hauled into an alley.

"Sorry, Johnny can't talk right now, he's busy." Jim said into the phone before ringing off with Sherlock.

"Fucking hell Jim, what are you doing?" John shoved him away.

"You came to the trial." Jim moved forward, his intent clear but John put up a hand to stop him, his hand on his chest to keep their distance.

"You asked for time and I gave it to you. What you do with it is up to you. But my showing up today was not a prerequisit for this to happen." John gestured between the two of them.

"Tease." Jim grabbed John's wrist and surged him forward. "This isn't over Johnny, not even close."

He bit him playfully on the nose and then let go of his wrist. He placed his hands in his pockets as he strolled out of the alley, whistling as he went.

* * *

John was drunk, so very, very, very drunk. He'd gone out with Stamford in an effort to get out of his flat that was overflowing with gifts. He hadn't poured his heart out of the Mike, although he had wanted to. There was no easy explanation for Jim and he couldn't bitch about it without going into the whole story. And John found that whole bit of his life quite embarrassing.

To be taken in by Jim, fucked six ways from Sunday and then fooled made John feel like an idiot. Now with all the presents, it felt like Jim was paying him for services rendered. Well, if the price tag on some of those presents was any indication, John had been quite the whore.

John stumbled blindly into the alley, tripping over his own feet and almost crashing face first into the wall. Instead he found himself in the arms of a large black blob, or at least that's what it looked like to his blurry vision.

"Fanks mrt." John mumbled what was supposed to be "thanks mate."

"I couldn't let you ruin your pretty face, now could I?" Jim purred into John's ear.

"What're you doing ere?" John slurred, trying to stand on his own feet but being wholly unsuccessful at it.

"I've been following you." Jim answered without apology.

"Gonna kidnrp me?" John asked, the ground swaying underneath him.

"Only a little." Jim grinned and then everything went black.

* * *

John could feel his head pounding before he even opened his eyes. He groaned in pain and turned over, burying himself under the covers. The bed was warm and the covers soft. John knew instantly it wasn't his bed but couldn't recall how he'd gotten here or what he'd done the night before.

He could smell eggs and coffee coming from the other room, so somehow he managed to roll out of bed to investigate. Once he got some food in his stomach, he might feel a little less like death. There was a dressing gown hanging off the door and John was only in his pants so he grabbed it without thinking.

He kept one hand on the wall to steady himself as he went towards the aroma wafting from the kitchen. His footsteps were heavy since too much movement made his head swim.

John would have recognized Jim from any angle so it wasn't much of a shock when his ex-lover turned around and smiled at him. John didn't have it in him to say anything, so he went to the breakfast bar and sat, putting his head on the counter. Wordlessly, Jim pushed a cup of coffee towards him and John groaned in thanks.

Next came water, pills and finally some breakfast. John took it all without complaint and Jim didn't try to get him to talk, which John was thankful for. The lights in the kitchen were dimmed, the curtains closed to keep John's eyes from exploding out of their sockets. It seemed like Jim had thought of everything.

"Where are my clothes?" John croaked when he felt a bit more like himself.

"You threw up on them." Jim answered, making a face of disgust from the memory. "I sent them out to be cleaned."

"Did anything happen between us last night?" John asked and Jim raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"After you'd almost thrown up on me? Please." Jim rolled his eyes and stabbed at his eggs violently with his fork. "Your virtue is intact."

John snorted at that. "Ever since your trial, I've been expecting something like this to happen. I've been trying to avoid being kidnapped."

"Oh yes this." Jim reached into his pocket and pulled out John's pocketknife. "You went for it last night and nearly stabbed yourself in the leg. I thought it best to take it away from you. Doesn't do you much good if you're blind drunk."

"Can I have it back please?" John held his hand out towards Jim.

Jim considered for a moment. "Are you going to stab me with it?"

"After you made me breakfast, that wouldn't be very polite." John grinned and felt relieved when Jim handed it over.

"Neither is throwing out someone's presents." Jim scowled and slumped in his seat, looking very much like he was pouting.

"Oh right." John rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a bit sheepish. He had no idea how to behave around Jim anymore. They'd been enemies, then lovers, then something more and now John had no idea what they were. But that feeling was still there, it had never really gone away, not even in death. "About that, I would really appreciate it if you would knock it off. It's not helping your cause anyway so you might as well save your money. Besides, the last time you tried to get me something you almost landed in jail."

"And what would help my cause?" Jim asked, spearing an egg and bringing it to his mouth.

"I don't know." John answered honestly. He couldn't deny the chemistry between them and he wouldn't let himself be taken in again. It seemed they had reached some sort of stalemate.

"If you would just let me explain –"

"No." John cut him off, narrowing his eyes. "It won't change a single thing, so why bother?"

"It wasn't some whim. There was a reason."

"And I told you I don't want to know."

"Why?" Jim inquired with aggravation.

"Because then I'll have to forgive you." John shouted, slamming his coffee cup onto the counter. He took several deep breaths and pushed the cup out of his reach before he broke it. "I know you Jim. You'll explain it just right and say exactly the right thing, what I want to hear. I'll have no choice but to forgive you and I'm not ready to stop being angry with you."

The stared at each other for a moment until Jim turned his face away. "Fine." He shrugged, feigning indifference.

"I should probably get home." John collected his plates and put them in the sink. He thought about washing them himself but that would take longer than he wanted to spend in Jim's presence. He could already feel his anger lessening the more time he spent with his ex-lover, being replaced with something like relief that Jim wasn't really gone forever. In spite of himself, John had missed him.

"I'll go see if your clothes are dry." John kept his back to Jim as the criminal mastermind pushed his chair back and went towards the front door.

John took the opportunity to look around. It wasn't the same flat, the one they had used before, but it was similar. John wouldn't put it past Jim to have a new flat fashioned after the old one. After all, he couldn't go back since the cops knew about his old safe house. But the layout of the place was extremely familiar. The style of the furniture was different

John went back into the bedroom and slipped off the dressing gown, hanging it back up on the door where he'd found it. Surprisingly, the room wasn't chilly even with John in so little clothing. Of course with Jim, everything had to be perfect. The idea of it made John smile.

"Fresh and no longer smelling of vomit…" Jim trailed off when he walked into the room and saw John in nothing but his pants. Suddenly the room was filled with tension, easily broken if one of them would just cross the room to the other. John's body was screaming at him to go to Jim, it would be so easy to give in. His body craved to touch someone and have them touch back.

He watched Jim's adam's apple bob as he swallowed hard. Jim dropped John's clothes in a heap on the floor and strode towards him with a look of determination. John's fight or flight response never even kicked in as Jim's lips captured his. The idea of refusing didn't even cross his mind as Jim's thin frame pressed against his. It had been too long, too bloody long and John wanted. It was as simple as that.

He had been expecting the kiss to be insistent, urgent and passionate. Instead it was just a simple press of lips against lips, almost like an offering. It was unlike Moriarty to be so considerate, not to just take what he wanted. It took John a moment to figure out why he was behaving so strangely. _He's not sure if I want this _John thought with astonishment. It seemed like he better derail it before things got too deep.

He gently broke away but stayed close. "Jim, I –"

"You should go."

"Sorry, what?" John asked, thrown off balance for a moment.

"I don't think you should be here." Jim pulled away and started to pick John's clothes up off the floor. When he had gathered them back into his arms, he pushed them rather forcefully into John's.

"Why not?"

"You have no intention of rekindling what we had. You won't let me apologize or explain, so I think it's best you leave before I do something I'll regret."

"Where did all this come from?" John stared at Moriarty in confusion, not moving to put on his clothes.

"I'm not going to force myself on you."

"Is that what you think was happening just now?"

Jim ignored him and pressed on. "And what is the alternative? I kidnap you, you deny me, we do it all over again. It sounds tedious so I'm skipping to the part where I give up."

"Why now? Why after we've kissed?" John demanded angrily.

"It was just a kiss." Jim said nonchalantly. "Besides, I'm a brilliant business man. I know when to cut my losses."

"Alright, good. If that's what you want. Great, just perfect." John tried his best to pretend this was what he wanted. He began stabbing his limbs into his clothes, putting them on rather violently. Jim watched him get dressed silently and when he pushed past Moriarty to get to the door, the consulting criminal followed him.

When they got to the front door, Jim attacked, pushing John up against the wood and sucking at his neck. John blinked in confusion for a few moments until the pleasure overtook his confusion and he moaned. Jim grabbed his wrists and held them on either side of his head, pinning him against the door as he marked his neck.

When he was satisfied, Jim pulled back and admired the first faint traces of a bruise on John's neck, running over the mark with just a brush of his fingertips. "Something to remember me by." Jim told him softly.

"One thing you'll never be Jim is forgettable." John smiled gently.

"Even so, better safe and all that."

"Right." John nodded as Jim stepped back and allowed him room to leave. John adjusted his clothes from where they had gotten rumpled by Jim's body and then opened the door. He felt strange as he walked through it, like it the way they were leaving things was wrong. As the door closed behind him, a wave of overwhelming dread washed over him. What if he never saw Jim again? Suddenly the idea of it felt…unbearable. He'd spent the last nine months wishing Jim were still alive and now that it had actually happened he was just going to walk away? No, screw that.

John let the door fling open as he reentered the flat, banging loudly against the wall. Jim had only made it a few steps in the front hallway so it wasn't difficult for John to close the space between them. He grabbed Jim by the shoulders and shoved him roughly against the wall, The kiss that followed was hard and insistent, like John was fighting a war and gaining ground quickly.

"You spend millions of pounds buying my presents, almost get yourself locked up and now you're suddenly giving up, just like that?" John growled and grabbed Jim by the hair, wrenching his head back and biting his neck. "I don't think so."

"Merely attempting to be sensible."

"Sensible? You?" John scoffed at the idea.

"You didn't appreciate any of my efforts or my gifts." Jim pouted and the gasped as John pulled his shirt collar down and licked the hollow of his throat.

"What the fuck am I supposed to do with a ten ton statue anyway?" John asked, his hand snaking down Jim's body until it cupped him through his trousers. He kept his hand still, making Jim work for it, rutting against his hand. "I wanted an apology Jim, not meaningless items with large price tags."

"You refused to speak to me." Jim argued through his whimpering.

"Like that's ever stopped you before." John countered. "You hardly tried at all and now you've just called it quits and…" Slowly a nagging idea in the back of his mind became a large idea at the front of his mind as something dawned on him. "You played me, you bastard."

Jim chuckled mischievously. "Duh." He replied as if it were obvious. "I told you, I came back for you, I wasn't about to give up so easily. I was compelling you to act, you're so fucking stubborn."

"And you're a fucking wanker."

"You wouldn't want me any other way."

"I don't want you now." John said with disinterest despite all evidence to the contrary.

Jim simply licked his lips and grinned. "Liar."

John did bother answering. "Strip." He ordered in as serious a tone as he could. He noticed a tiny shiver go through Jim before he started to obey. John watched silently, his hands placed behind his back, while Jim undressed. The air was thick with intensity as Jim slowly removed his clothes, bit by bit with no help from John. John, in his infinite patience, stayed completely still.

When every last stitch of clothing was gone, John finally spoke again. "Get on your knees."

Jim's prick twitched with interest and he slowly knelt in front of John, knowing all too well what came next. John's hands were still behind his back so Jim reached forward and began undoing John's trousers. He pushed John's shirt up a bit and kissed his stomach while he worked to get John's cock out.

Finally successful at striping John to the waist, Jim buried his face against John's crotch and inhaled deeply. Gripping the base, he ran his cheek along the side of John's prick until it reached his lips. He parted them ever so slightly so the tip could rest between them and gave John one long stroke. Instantly he felt precome dribble into his mouth as John groaned above him.

He gave it a few more strokes and then grabbed the base again, guiding it into his mouth. He gave a few quickly licks to the frenulum while his hand slid up John's body, under his shirt, to thumb his nipple. He swallowed him halfway down and then back up while John's back arched and he gripped Jim's hair.

Jim gave a few hard sucks and then pulled off completely. "Nine months apart, is this really how you want it to go?" he asked, gazing up at John.

"Well I want you to stop talking, this seems like a solution."

Jim glared at him, pinching his nipple hard. Once John had given a yelp of pain, Jim began to suck him again.

"Oh don't look so put out, I know how much you love this." John chastised as he braced himself against the wall and thrust his hips ever so slightly, pushing further into Jim's mouth. Jim continued to toy with John's nipples while his other hand cupped his balls, rolling them against his palm. John gasped and his legs began to shake with the effort of remaining standing. "Okay, stop."

John pushed off the wall and stood in the middle of the hallway trying to catch his breath. "Go to the bedroom and wait for me."

Jim looked for a moment like he was going to argue, but instead he rose gracefully to his feet and returned to his room. He flopped down on the sheets and felt a bit triumphant that he had gotten John so easily. Of course it helped that he knew exactly what buttons to press.

His cock was hard and straining from neglect. He stroked himself slowly, not wanting to get too worked up before John got back. Speaking of, he seemed to be taking his sweet time with whatever he was doing. Jim grew impatient and almost nervous with anticipation. What was John doing?

A niggling voice in the back of his head told him he had been played as well. John could have gotten him all worked up and then simply left. He hadn't heard the front door open or shut but that wasn't indicative of anything. John knew how to be stealthy.

Jim was about to go and check when John appeared in the doorway. Jim nearly breathed a sigh of relief but kept it in. He didn't want John to know he had been worried. "You took your time." He said coolly.

"Sorry to keep you waiting." John strode over to the bed and crawled over Jim.

"No you're not."

"You're right, I'm not. But I think you'll find it was worth the wait."

"You always are."

Their lips met, tongues gliding together effortlessly, giving and taking like some kind of dance. While John was distracting Jim with his tongue, he wrapped his hand around Jim's prick and sunk down on it. Jim's eyes widened in surprise as his cock slid inside John.

John started to ride him, languidly pushing up and then grinding back down. "Oh fuck." John moaned, his mouth open as he threw his head back. "Oh fuck, oh god. It's been way too long since someone fucked me."

"You mean Sherlock hasn't –"

"No." John cut him off quickly.

"Really?"

"I meant no, I'm not talking about my sex life with Sherlock while we're currently fucking." John clarified, placing one hand on Jim's chest and the other on his leg to help with leverage.

Jim took John's hand and moved it up to his throat. John got the idea and pressed down on Jim's windpipe just enough to make breathing difficult. Jim's eyes rolled back in his head with ecstasy while John picked up the pace and rode him harder. Jim began thrusting his hips up, feeling so close to his orgasm he could taste it.

He wrapped his hand around John's cock and began pumping it, letting him fuck his fist. "Oh fuck yes." John moaned, his movements becoming erratic as his orgasm hit and his come spurted out of his cock. His grip on Jim's throat tightened, making Jim follow him over the edge.

John dropped heavily onto Jim, going boneless on top of him. Jim managed to nudge John's face so their lips could meet as they kissed slowly. Together they turned onto their sides, still wrapped up in each other.

"God, I love you." Jim breathed against John's lips.

Jim's cheek stung from the slap John had just administered. He rubbed it gently, scowling at John.

"You don't get to say that to me. Not after what you did." John snarled and looked ready to hit him again.

"If you would only let me tell you why –"

"And I told you I don't want to know. You left me, plain and simple."

"No it isn't that simple."

"You could have told me what was going on back then but you didn't. We could have figured something out together. Instead you. Left. Me." John said through gritted teeth and tried to disentangle himself from Jim but Jim wouldn't let him go.

"I had to."

"No you didn't."

Jim rolled them over so he was on top and pinned John to the bed. "Do you think you were the only one who was hurt? Do you think leaving you wasn't like tearing out my own fucking heart? _I had to." _Jim repeated, hoping the words might finally sink in. "A year. I was supposed to be gone a year and I couldn't even manage that. I had to stop watching you on the CCTV because it was fucking agony. Do you realize how easy it is to run a criminal organization when everyone thinks you're dead? My life would be so much simpler if I had just stayed away."

"Then why didn't you?"

"Because you have a piece of me, John Watson and without you I can never have one iota of happiness. I need to be with you."

"Get off of me." John shouted and Jim released him. John didn't go far, sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to Jim. "I don't want to be here. I hate myself for giving in, for wanting this, maybe even needing it. Needing you. Somtimes I don't know which is worse, loving you or hating you. But no matter how much I tell myself to, I can't stay away."

"It's not that surprising." Jim scooted across the bed and wrapped his arms around John from behind, resting his cheek on John's scarred shoulder.

"Isn't it?"

"No." Jim gave him a light squeeze. "Because I have a piece of you too."


	4. Distractions

A/N: This will probably be the last update until after December 1st because I really have to concentrate on finishing my Johnlock Challenges Gift Exchange.

* * *

John was lost in a mess of indecision and uncertainty. When he had finally left Jim's flat, nothing had been decided between them. He knew Jim wanted him back, or at least wanted to continue having sex, but the two were not mutually exclusive. He also knew that he and Sherlock were not strictly just friends anymore. It hadn't felt like he was cheating on Sherlock since nothing was defined between them but he wondered if Sherlock would see it that way.

John had stopped at the market to get some things, most importantly a bottle of wine. He'd found that wine tended to have a calming effect on Sherlock, which would be helpful. He walked into the flat with a mixed feeling of dread and uneasiness.

"John, we have a visitor." Sherlock called out. John frowned in confusion and grabbed the wine, carrying it with him to Sherlock's bedroom.

"What, in your bedroom?" John asked dryly, wondering what kind of client would wait in Sherlock's room of all places. "Oh." John's face fell for a moment as his irritation overtook him. Then slowly it turned into a smile. This could definitely work in his favour. Sherlock was taken with Irene, perhaps she would be the prefect distraction while John figured out how to tell Sherlock about Jim.

They quietly left the room, leaving Irene to sleep. A small part of John was annoyed that she was in Sherlock's bed, one that they had shared. But then he reminded himself that he had no ground to stand on. After all, he'd spent the night in Jim's bed, he couldn't complain about Irene. Still, it felt like she was intruding on their space.

"Look, Sherlock, if you wanted to go for it with Irene, I won't stand in your way." John whispered. Even though the door was closed and they were out in the hallway, John didn't want to wake her just yet.

"Go for it?" Sherlock asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"You know, if you were interested in her. I know there's something between you two. It's obvious she's into you so…"

"How very generous of you John. Really, to step aside and let me have sex with Irene. Maybe you should change your career to being a matchmaker, you're so splendid at it." Sherlock replied sarcastically.

"Okay, there's no need to take the piss. I'm merely saying that if you both decided to be together, you don't have to worry about me."

"And this selfless decision of yours has nothing to do with the fact that you had sex with Moriarty." Sherlock hissed angrily.

"How did you –"

Sherlock reached forward and yanked John's collar down. John winced, having forgotten that Jim had marked his neck the night before. "Don't insult my intelligence John, it would be foolish of you. The mark is too big to have come from a woman and you're not currently with anyone, I would know. Also, by a happy coincidence, this mark on your neck just happens to coincide with the return of a certain consulting criminal. Imagine that."

"Alright, you've made your point…Sherlock!" John shouted, unable to contain himself, as Sherlock launched himself at John's neck and began sucking the exact same spot. "Oh fuck, what are you doing?"

John twisted his fingers in Sherlock's hair as his flatmate ravished his neck. The skin was already sensitive from the bruise already adorning his neck, which made everything Sherlock did heightened.

When he was satisfied, Sherlock switched to the other side and began sucking and biting a spot even higher on John's neck. John had a feeling that he was going to be littered with lovebites for a while. His cock was rapidly showing interest and he couldn't help the tiny minute thrusts of his hips, searching for some relief.

"Sherlock." John half whined, half moaned, wrapping one leg around Sherlock's body and pulling him closer.

"How dare you?" Sherlock growled against John's ear as he quickly moved to unfasten John's trousers. "How could you let him touch you after everything he's done? After the hell he put you through? How could you forgive him so easily, let him manipulate you back into his bed?"

"He didn't – oh fuck – he didn't manipulate –" John couldn't finish a single coherent thought as Sherlock dropped to his knees in front of him. He couldn't look away as those perfect lips wrapped around the head of his cock. Sherlock slid down slowly and then back up while John had to grip Sherlock's shoulders just to keep from falling over.

Sherlock pulled off and began stroking John vigorously to the point where it was difficult to pay attention because it felt so good. Sherlock's spit made everything smoother and John was falling apart rapidly.

"And then you offer me to Irene as if you're doing me some kind of favour?" Sherlock snarled but didn't let up. John impending orgasm was fast approaching.

"I just thought – oh shit – buggering fuck – you wanted her."

"There was more on that phone than just dirty pictures. I have not figured out Irene's game yet and until I do, I will not be content."

"But it's more than that, isn't it." John whimpered as Sherlock took him back into his mouth. "Fifty-seven texts, that's not nothing."

Sherlock once again switched his mouth for his hand, giving John no rest from the pleasure he was evoking. "Once again, your observational skills are astounding John." Sherlock smirked.

"You're fascinated by her." John argued and then gasped as Sherlock began tonguing his balls.

"And you automatically think that means I want to have sex with her?"

"I think she's that good." John countered. "I think she's someone who could sell ice to an Eskimo and she could certainly sell you on sex."

"You underestimate me."

"You underestimate her. After all, she's beaten you once before." John reminded him and then yelped in surprise as Sherlock bit the crease of his hip.

"If I was attracted to Irene, why would I need your permission to fuck her?" Sherlock inquired, guiding John back into his mouth to finish him off.

"Oh god." John moaned as his body wracked with orgasm and he came into Sherlock's eager mouth. John slumped down, sliding along the wall, until he was sitting on the hallway floor. It took him a moment to get his breath back. "Sherlock, all I meant was that if you finally found someone you wanted to be with, wholly, I want that for you."

"Because you've found someone else and if I do as well, you don't have to feel guilty about it." Sherlock translated.

"That's not –"

"Sorry to interrupt boys." At some point in the conversation – and John really hoped it was after the sex – Irene had emerged from the bedroom. "We have things to discuss."

"Right, I need tea." John pulled up his trousers and went into the kitchen, leaving Sherlock and Irene to work things out for themselves.

* * *

John needed to get away; get out of the flat and away from that woman. Sherlock could deny it all he wanted but John knew attraction when he saw it. God, the way they flirted with each other, it made John nauseous.

Jim had sneakily programmed his new number into John's phone, probably when he was passed out drunk. John opened a new text message and typed out a message as quickly as his two thumbs would let him.

_Need to be distracted. You up for the job?_

_**And how will you repay me?**_

****_Sexual favours?_

_**That's already implied by the distracting bit.**_

****_Well, what do you want?_

_**Dinner.**_

****_That's all?_

_**For now.**_

****_Done._

Jim texted him an address and John made his way there quickly. The more time spent alone meant more time thinking about Sherlock and Irene, which was not how he wanted to be spending his time. He was fairly certain Irene was going to make her move soon, proposition Sherlock, and John didn't want to be around to witness it. Especially not if Sherlock said yes.

The address ended up leading him to a hotel. John checked to make sure he'd gotten it right but this was definitely the address Jim had sent. Shrugging to himself, he walked inside and found the first floor, besides being a lobby, was a very nice looking restaurant and bar. John suddenly felt wildly underdressed.

He walked over to the Maitre D and inquired whether Jim was there yet. Right after he'd finished asking, he recognized a dark head of hair sitting in the corner. He thanked the hostess and went to join him. He noticed he got a few glances for his outfit but he couldn't do anything about it now.

"Hi." John said when he sat down in the empty chair across from Jim.

"You took your time." Jim said, running his finger in a circle over the rim of his wine glass.

"Sorry."

"And you're wearing that." Jim frowned at his outfit.

"Well when I texted you, I didn't know it was going to result in dinner at an expensive restaurant." John argued, grabbing for the pint Jim had ordered for him and taking a large gulp. Somehow it made him feel even more out of place, like some kind of uncultured oaf.

"Just what were you expecting?"

"Honestly, sex at your place and maybe getting Chinese takeaway." John responded with a smirk.

"Not this time." Jim leaned forward a bit. "We did the whole sneaking around shite last time."

"So you want to what…date?" John blinked a bit disbelievingly at the man across the table.

"If you're amendable." Jim answered, raising his wine glass to his lips and taking a sip.

"Why now?" John shook his head. "You always insisted we weren't dating."

"Nine months away gives a bloke a lot of time to think, reprioritize." Jim's voice got low, causing John to lean forward as well. "Make him think about what's really important."

Jim's eyes were dark and intense as he stared at John. John licked his lips, unsure how to respond. They were interrupted by their waiter, who took their orders and promptly left, leaving them alone once again.

"I told you once that I wanted to own you, that hasn't changed. The difference is, I went about it all wrong last time. I'm not going to fuck it up again."

"Jim, I…there's a problem with your brilliant new plan. I don't know if I can do that. I know we had sex but now you want to jump into a relationship? You just came back from the dead, I have no idea where you've been for the past nine months. You come back and immediately start playing games, manipulating me and playing with my head. How is this ever going to work?"

"It worked fine last time."

"Which resulted in you faking your death and both of us being miserable for almost a year. Not exactly the best example."

"But this time I'm not leaving." John made a face. "You don't believe me."

"I think it's very easy to make promises."

"I'll prove it to you." Jim said with so much conviction that John almost wanted to believe him. Jim reached into his pocket and pulled out a key. "I booked us a room, penthouse suite, for after dinner. It's up to you whether we use it or not." He placed the key in the middle of the table. "This can just be dinner."

"So you're not after me for my body?" John joked with a grin.

Jim slowly looked up, eyes roaming over John's body before he spoke. "Not exclusively." Jim answered, returning John's grin. "But I'm trying to show you that this isn't just about sex. After we finish dinner we can go back to our separate flats until the next date."

"And if I asked if I could come home with you and just cuddle?"

Jim chuckled. "I suppose that is an option I hadn't thought of. You know I'm not much for cuddling."

John chewed his bottom lip and contemplated his options. "So either I take this key and we go upstairs and shag or I don't and we go to our separate ways."

"It's entirely up to you. I won't try to sway you either way."

"Yeah, like I don't know which outcome you're hoping for anyway." John said knowingly and eyed the key in front of him. It wasn't like if he took the key it was a promise to Jim that they would be together. After all John was still bitter and recovering from Jim's death. He didn't appreciate being lied to and being made to suffer for nothing. He knew Jim had his reasons but he still didn't want to know.

But Jim was making an effort, which was important. John couldn't just ignore what this gesture meant for them. No hiding, no sneaking around; and while John doubted they'd ever be like a normal couple, they could pretend to be like regular people.

Then John reminded himself of Sherlock and how he had reacted to seeing the lovebite. How would he react to John and Jim becoming something official? John didn't think he could give Jim an definitive answer until he figured out what the hell was going on with him and Sherlock. And he didn't feel like he could figure out what was going on with Sherlock until he knew how he felt about Jim. It was a conundrum that had John's head spinning.

The key wasn't a promise; it wasn't a ring. It was a step towards wherever he and Jim were headed. Jim was essentially leaving their future in John's hands and that was enough to cripple him with fear. If he took it and they went upstairs it didn't mean anything. If they went home and decided to make a proper go of being in a "relationship" however loosely the term applied to Jim, it wasn't a binding contract.

What it really boiled down to was whether John wanted to have sex with Jim that night. Slowly, he reached his hand forward and wrapped it around the key. A smile spread across Jim's face. He put his napkin on the table and stood up.

"Wait, what about our food?" John asked, noticing it hadn't arrived yet.

"We'll have it sent up to the room."

John rolled his eyes. "Can't we have a nice dinner? Sitting down like normal people, having a conversation as people often do?"

"We just did that." Jim flopped back down into his chair and pouted.

"Come on, twenty minutes won't kill you." John nudged Jim's foot with his own under the table.

There was one major flaw in John's "Act Like Human Beings" plan. Normal people could engage in small talk but that wasn't exactly a possibility. They couldn't talk about work because frankly he didn't want to know what evil shit Jim was currently investing in. And he seriously doubted that Jim wanted to hear about working at the surgery, giving out flu shots and wrapping broken feet.

He couldn't remember finding topics of conversation being an issue before when they had been together. What had they talked about all the time? Then again they'd never really done this sort of thing. John remembered lots and lots of sex, he didn't recall a whole lot of talking. He didn't think Jim really had any friends except maybe Moran and business contacts. All of John's small talk topics were diminishing quickly.

He couldn't talk about Sherlock, for obvious reasons, which after he'd exhausted all his options, left only one thing to talk about, even though he really didn't want to. "So how do you know Irene?"

"Irene?" Jim's brow wrinkled in confusion.

"Irene Adler?" John reminded him. "The woman? She was there when you decided to tell me you were alive."

"Oh right, I forgot that." Jim frowned at his wine glass.

"You forgot?" John asked indignantly. "It was kind of an important moment or at least I thought it was."

"I didn't forget that you idiot, I meant that I forgot Irene had been there."

"Oh." John felt silly for overreacting. "So?" he prompted.

"She's a client." Jim answered vaguely and took a rather large gulp of wine.

"So you're helping her blackmail the royal family?"

"Well someone had to." Jim shrugged.

They sat in silence for a few moments. The idea that Jim was working with Irene irked him for some reason. It probably had something to do with his violent dislike of her.

"Okay, this is rubbish, let's go." John stood up, retrieving the key from his pocket.

"You're sure?" Jim cocked an eyebrow in surprise.

"Yeah, come on." John motioned with his head towards the exit. Jim didn't argue, just got to his feet and went to talk to their waiter.

John waited by the door for Jim to finish and then they both made their way upstairs to their room.

* * *

"Where's John?" Sherlock asked, finally escaping his own mind.

"He went out, a couple of hours ago." Irene answered.

Sherlock was a bit unsettled to be left alone with her, especially after what John had said. Despite what John thought, Sherlock did not want Irene in that way. He couldn't even imagine what that would be like, while he could imagine very vividly what it was like to be with John.

Something vile twisted in Sherlock's gut to think that John was most likely out with Moriarty, being seduced yet again.

"Sherlock." Irene said gently, pulling him from his reverie. "If I were to ask you to dinner and by some small chance you accepted, would it be about me or would it be about him?"

"About whom?" Sherlock asked, emphasizing the m.

"John. I can tell there's some issues going on between the two of you. And if you're going to be taking a lady out to dinner, you shouldn't be thinking about someone else." Irene clarified almost as if she was scolding him.

"John and I aren't a couple."

"That's means less than the two of you seem to think it does. After all, being a couple it just a label. Like lesbian is a label and yet here I am, asking a man to dinner. Labels are for boring, unimaginative people that need ways to fit things into boxes. We're not so simple-minded, are we Mr. Holmes?"

"If you believe I'm harboring feelings for my flatmate, why would you want to have dinner with me?" Sherlock challenged, wondering if Irene would back down. She moved out of her chair to kneel in front of him. It seemed as if she wasn't dissuaded in the slightest.

"Because there could be a chance I misread the situation. Or considering the fact that I'm almost positive John is current off having dinner with Jim Moriarty, perhaps you'd like a little dinner of your own." She reached forward and took his hand.

"Why would I want dinner if I'm not hungry?"

* * *

John was relieved when they got to the room. They were much better at sex than they would ever be at polite conversation. Jim went into the bathroom and John got busy undressing. The room was as nice as John had been expecting, a large king bed in the center on a slightly raised platform. There was a sofa, a desk, a telly, most everything one would expect in a hotel room except more expensive.

John sat on the edge of the bed, completely naked, and waited for Jim. He felt a sort of nervous anticipation that was quelling his uneasiness. If he and Jim couldn't make it through one meal without running out of conversation topics, how was this ever going to work?

Jim emerged from the bathroom, wiping his hands on a towel and then threw it over his shoulder back into the bathroom. He made his way over and stood in between John's legs, raising his hand and running his fingers through John's hair.

"Have you noticed that we have absolutely nothing in common?" John asked, beginning to slowly divest his lover.

"That's not true."

"Fine, name something."

"We both like guns…and sex. It's strange the two haven't coincided yet. It's a travesty really."

"I'm being serious." John chastised as he undid Jim's tie and pulled it off.

"So am I, how have we never done any gun play with all the sex we've had?" Jim asked, slipping his suit jacket off and letting it fall to the floor.

"Well we've got to save something for the honeymoon."

Jim's eyebrows were raised so high they had practically become a part of his hairline, his large brown eyes comically large in shock.

"Joking, that was a joke." John backtracked quickly before Jim got any ideas. "Anything else?"

"I like to commit crimes, you like to solve crimes."

"Which doesn't count as something we have in common at all. In fact we're on complete opposite sides of that spectrum."

"We both like action movies."

"Lots of people like action movies."

John started to unbutton Jim's shirt, kissing the skin as it was exposed inch by inch.

"You're being extremely unhelpful with this list." Jim pointed out.

"We both like tea."

"Everyone likes tea."

"Now who's being unhelpful?" John asked, getting to the final button and slipping Jim's shirt off his shoulders. He ran his hands down Jim's torso and then got to work on his trousers.

"I think being with someone who is agreeable all the time is boring anyway. I'd rather disagree about everything and then have really hot hate sex."

"It doesn't bother you that we basically have nothing to talk about?" John inquired, pull Jim's trousers down to his knees. He lowered his head and began to mouth Jim's cock through his tight black underwear. Jim hissed and tightened his grip on John's hair.

"We're talking right now."

"We're talking about the fact that we have nothing to talk about." John shot back, pushing Jim's pants down until both them and his trousers were around his ankles.

"Next time we go to dinner, if I feel a lull in the conversation, I'll be sure to bring up some topics for conversation." Jim stepped out of the rest of his clothes and crawled onto the bed.

"Such as?"

"The weather."

John snorted and let Jim push him down onto the sheets. He brought his hands up and ran them down Jim's back until he reached his arse, giving it a playful squeeze.

"Politics. Religion."

"Those are considered taboo talking points."

"Art, music, food."

"Better."

They kissed slowly, Jim's tongue taking its time coaxing John's mouth open. His hands made their way up John's arms, pinning his wrists above his head. "You know, I really don't care what we talk about. I would talk about the most menial thing if I meant having the pleasure of your company."

"Wow, that was cheesy." John laughed and Jim bit his neck in retaliation. "Next thing I know you'll be writing me poems."

"I thought you were the one who liked writing poems to your dates."

"Seriously, is there anyone who doesn't hack into my email?" John asked indignantly.

"Let's see. How shall I serenade you? Roses are red, violets are blue, I love your cock, so put it in my mouth."

"And you have the gall to offend my poetry?"

"It was sincere!"

John giggled until Jim captured his lips again to quiet him. They rolled around the bed, fighting over who was on top, while being sure to grind their hips together. During the struggle, John managed to grab Jim's shirt off the floor and while Jim was preoccupied with sucking John, he managed to tie Jim to the headboard.

"Now that you've got me, Dr. Watson, what are you going to do to me?" Jim asked sensually, his eyes dark as he waited.

"Whatever…I…want." John answered, licking first one nipple, then the other before kissing Jim deeply. John shuffled forward until he was straddling Jim's stomach and began teasing Jim's nipples. Jim started writhing against the sheets, fighting against his bonds.

"Johnny." Jim whined, thrusting his hips up, looking for some relief.

"Lubricant?" John asked, licking both his thumbs and circling Jim's nipples relentlessly.

"Drawer, in the drawer." Jim cried out desperately.

John crawled up the bed until he could reach into the bedside table. It appeared Jim had gotten it fully stocked. John reached in and pulled out a plug. "Planning on using this on me, were you?" he asked, dropping it onto the bed.

"Just keeping my options open." Jim shrugged as best he could while his hands were tied over his head.

"Naturally." John nodded and grabbed some lubricant.

Coating his fingers, he teased Jim's hole with light touches that made Jim jerk in surprise. When he had finally inserted the first finger, he threw Jim's legs over his shoulders and took his prick into his mouth. He sucked him gently at first, hardly any suction at all. As each finger was added, John sucked harder and deeper, adding brushes of his fingers against Jim's prostate.

"Oh fuck Johnny. Fucking fuck." Jim moaned, trying to push his hips up but didn't have any leverage in his current position. He was completely at John's mercy and his orgasm was fast approaching. "Oh Christ. Buggering shit. Oh God Johnny, Johnny JOOHHNN." Jim hollered John's name in one long stream as he came.

John used Jim's momentary distraction to ease his fingers out and push the plug in. By the time Jim seemed to come back to himself, the plug was already seated deep inside him.

"Jesus Christ John." Jim lowered his legs off of John's shoulders, looking somewhat bewildered. "That was something else."

"We're not done yet." John informed him.

Jim shifted and finally seemed to notice the plug inside him. "What are you doing?"

"Well it's the funniest thing. I saw this tiny little remote in the drawer and though maybe this was one of the ones that vibrates."

"You wouldn't." Jim's eyes widened in surprise.

"I remembered how sensitive your nipples were." To demonstrate his point, John ran his hands up and down Jim's chest, being certain to brush over his nipples every time. "I also remember how easily you can get it up again. I intend to make you come at least three times tonight. Round one is over, its time for round two." John said and flipped the switch on the remote.

* * *

Sherlock had been calling John for hours. He either had his phone on silent or he simply wasn't picking up. After everything that had happened with Irene and his brother, all Sherlock wanted was some affection from John. Maybe to curl up in bed and forget about the whole rotten night.

Even though he had managed to win, the victory felt hollow. John would be glad to know that Irene was out of their lives for good.

Sherlock grabbed his violin and began to play, prepared to stay up until John decided to come home.

* * *

John slid into Jim's tired, stretched body and began to thrust, finally getting some friction on his aching cock. He'd brought Jim off by using the vibrator and putting their cocks together to wank simultaneously. It hadn't taken Jim long at all to get hard again and then come again.

Jim was sweaty and tired but John wasn't quite done yet. He grabbed the knot of Jim's restraints and began fucking into him as hard as possible. Jim was hardly coherent anymore, babbling and moaning uncontrollably, noise just continually streaming out of his mouth.

John knew this wasn't going to last long. He'd been hard for too long and just really needed to come. Jim was incredibly starting to get hard again after John had taken the time to feed him and get him water after their second time. He'd also taken the time to clean Jim's come stained body.

It felt too good, so slippery that John could fuck as fast as he liked and still it felt incredibly tight. His orgasm was fast approaching and he couldn't stop it. He wrapped his hand around Jim's cock and began to pump it quickly. Jim threw his head back against the pillow and groaned loudly.

John felt his orgasm hovering so he slammed as hard and as deep as he could into Jim's body, watching as Jim came for a third time and John followed. When he was finished he collapsed onto Jim and managed to untie him, gently massaging his wrists.

"Fuck Johnny, you should come with a warning label." Jim said, slightly out of breath. "I don't think I've ever been fucked so well in all my life."

"You're welcome." John said with a chuckle.

Someone's phone went off. "That's mine." Jim said, muffled as he buried his face in John's neck.

"Then go get it."

"Can't move." Jim shook his head minutely. "My legs have turned to jelly."

"Fine." John managed to crawl to the side of the bed and route through Jim's clothes until he found his phone. Then he made his way back and held the phone against Jim's ear.

"Jim Moriarty."

John was going to listen but his own phone went off. Forcing himself to get up again, he crossed the room to where he'd left his things and fished out his phone. It was a text alert, which was one of thirty texts he'd received since dinner. There was also a whole bunch of missed calls, all from the same person. John went into the bathroom for a bit of privacy and just as he shut the door, his phone rang again.

"Sherlock, what is it?"

"John, I've been calling you for hours now. Where are you?"

"Oh nowhere. Just out." John responded, feeling guilty.

"Are you with Jim?"

"Why would you think that?" John asked defensively.

"Look, you should probably come home."

"Why Sherlock, what's wrong?"

"There's something you should know about Jim Moriarty."


	5. Take Me

John was a little concerned that he could recognize the feeling of being tied to a chair before he was even fully conscious. He supposed it was just the sort of thing that came from having Sherlock Holmes as your best friend and James Moriarty as your ex. He blinked awake, trying to focus on where he was and how he had gotten there.

He was in some sort of warehouse, he could tell that much. Boxes were piled high around him, blocking his view. All he could see was the door in front of him and he was guessing it was most likely locked and bolted. He couldn't tell how large the building was but if he had to guess, he'd say quite large. He could hear running water, which meant they were most likely somewhere close to the Thames.

The last thing he remembered was ending things with Jim. He'd left Jim's flat angry and upset, making his way back to Baker Street on foot to get rid of some of his aggression. He couldn't remember seeing anyone or being knocked out. Was it an enemy of Sherlock's or Jim's? How would he even be able to tell?

Squirming in his seat, John tested his bonds to see how well they had been knotted. They were good, military grade knots, almost inescapable. If John was given enough time, he could definitely get free. While he was trying, he finally put two and two together. Military knots, unseen attacker, there was definitely one person he knew of that could have done this.

Sure enough, he turned his head and saw Colonel Sebastian Moran sitting silently in the corner watching him. He was cleaning what looked to be dried blood from under his fingernails with a large knife – his chair back on two legs and leaning against the wall, allowing him to lounge – until he noticed John was awake. Dropping his chair back onto four legs, Moran stood up and walked over.

John kept his eyes on Moran's rather large knife as the sniper walked towards him. But Moran pocketed it and undid John's gag. "Sorry about this, Doctor, but the boss insisted."

John narrowed his eyes. "Where is he?" he growled, fighting to get loose. "I want to see him _now._"

The door opened and Jim appeared, smiling widely. John knew he was one of the few people who knew Jim well enough to tell it was fake. He'd seen Jim's real smile and this wasn't it. But he had seen this smile before, at the pool, and that's when John though he might be in trouble.

"Well Johnny. Ask and you shall receive!"

* * *

**Five Hours Earlier**

"John, there's something you should know about Jim Moriarty."

"What?" John asked, wary of the fact that Jim might overhear. He couldn't hear Jim on the phone in the other room anymore, which either meant he too had to be quiet or he was finished and might be eavesdropping. "What are you talking about?"

"I can't explain over the phone, especially not if he's with you. Just come home."

"Okay, fine. I'll get a taxi."

"Good." Sherlock rang off without another word and John sighed, placing his phone on the sink so he could scrub his hands over his face. He was already exhausted and the last thing he wanted was to have to trek it home to Baker Street, especially with Sherlock being all enigmatic about what was going on.

Picking up his phone, he left the bathroom and found Jim still in bed, dozing off quietly. John couldn't help the fond smile breaking out onto his face. John knew Jim Moriarty didn't let his guard down in front of just anybody. Jim didn't trust people enough to fall asleep with them.

"Jim." John eased onto the bed and gently shook Jim. "Love, wake up."

"Hmm?" Jim hummed sleepily, his eyes barely opening.

"I have to go."

"No, stay." Jim grabbed John's arm and tugged him down.

"I can't. Sherlock has some emergency he needs me for."

"So?" Jim shrugged his shoulders slightly. "He's a big boy, he can handle it."

"I wouldn't be too sure about that."

"Will you come back?" Jim asked, his fingers dancing over John's skin.

"Did you want me to?" John asked, somewhat surprised. "I figured you'd go home."

"Might as well stay, the room is already paid for." Jim said indifferently. "Besides, I was planning on spending the night here with you anyway."

"Okay, you've won me over. I'll be back in about an hour." John bent down and kissed Jim softly, his lips pliant from his exhaustion. The goodbye kiss lasted a bit longer than John had intended but having a sated Jim Moriarty letting him explore his mouth to his hearts content was too good to pass up. What's more was John had quite missed kissing him while he had been away and was just glad he got the chance to again.

Tearing himself away, John got dressed quickly and hurried out the door. Jim was already well on his way to falling asleep again as John shut the door quietly behind him. John had no idea why Sherlock had called him away; maybe it was just a ploy to get John away from Jim. But he was strangely nervous about what Sherlock had to tell him. As London blurred past his window, John kind of wished he'd never left that hotel room.

* * *

"You're certain?" John asked, not wanting to believe it.

"John." Sherlock gave him a look.

"Jesus." John flopped back in his chair, feeling drained. Sherlock had filled him in on everything that had happened with Irene. The plane of the dead, the American's involvement, and of course Jim's involvement as well. It was almost too much to take in at one time. John felt like he couldn't process it, couldn't handle it. It was too overwhelming and he had no idea what to do with any of it.

"I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" John managed to look up at Sherlock. It was about all he could manage. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"I should have known, I should have seen it coming."

"You're not clairvoyant Sherlock. You couldn't have known." John huffed out a breath and dropped his head onto the back of his chair. "Besides, I'm the idiot who let Jim back into my life. God, this is a nightmare."

"So you're going to end things with him?" Sherlock sounded a little too pleased with the idea.

"I think I have to. I've forgiven him a lot lately but I don't think I can ever overlook this. Not only was he coming after you again, which I had asked him to stop with –"

"And Mycroft." Sherlock interjected.

"Eh, that I don't mind so much." John said dryly, making Sherlock's lips upturn into a smirk. "But working with terrorists? I just – I can't believe it."

"He's a Consulting _Criminal _John, who did you think he worked with?"

John made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. "I don't know, mob bosses, people looking to get out of paying their taxes, rich people looking to kill their wives, that sort of thing. I guess I didn't really think about it because I didn't want to."

"So what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to go talk to him, I guess." John groaned, hating the prospect of that already. Jim was too good at making John change his mind. But John had to be resilient; he would not back down about this. He forced himself up out of his chair and grabbed his coat, stabbing his arms into the sleeves a little too violently.

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"No." John said quickly before Sherlock started insisting or just followed him anyway. "I appreciate the offer but your being there is just going to set Jim on edge and make everything ten times worse. I think it's best if I go alone."

"You're sure you can do this?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow skeptically.

John puffed the air out of his cheeks and opened the door. "I'm going to have to."

* * *

When John got back to the hotel, Jim was sitting in the bed watching telly, a bottle of wine in his fists and a box of chocolates opened on the bed next to him. He looked like the poster for decadence. "Oh thank god you're here." Jim sighed gratefully. "I'm watching something called the Jeremy Kyle show and I need you to help me figure out how to kill it."

"Turning it off?" John suggested, his hands fisted in his pockets.

"Hmm." Jim hummed in agreement as he grabbed the remote and switched the set off before patting the bed next to him.

John walked over to the bed, standing next to it as Jim turned so his legs were dangling off the side. "I missed you." Jim said, placing the wine bottle on the nightstand. "I was just getting lonely."

"Were you?" John asked shortly, his lips pursing together.

"Yes." Jim nodded and reached for John's hand. Before he could take it, John jerked away and clenched it into a fist. Without really thinking about what he was doing, John felt his hand connect with Jim's face.

"Jesus fuck John." Jim pinched his nose and tilted his head back to stop the bleeding. "What was that for?"

"Sherlock told me all about your little plans with Irene." John said through gritted teeth.

"And...?" Jim got out of the bed and headed towards the bathroom. "You knew already that I was working with Irene, I told you at dinner."

Jim grabbed a towel and pressed it to his nose. He stared at John expectantly, waiting for an explanation for John's sudden outburst of violence. "You failed to mention you were working with terrorists."

"Oh." Jim dropped his arm, the bloody towel falling to his side, as he finally understood.

"Did you honestly think I'd be okay with that? I spent years fighting against the kind of people you're working with. The kind of people that put a bullet through my shoulder."

"I didn't think –"

"No, I think it's fair to say you didn't think. If you had, you would have known not to help some terrorists blow up a plane with innocent people inside."

"I wasn't helping them blow up a plane, I was spoiling Mycroft's plans. It was my way of getting back at him for making me leave you." Jim stepped forward, trying to touch John but he stepped out of Jim's grasp. Jim frowned and tried again, this time managing to grip John's arm, his nails digging into his bicep. "You've known. You've always known what I am. Why is it an issue now?"

"Jim, I _fought in Afghanistan. _I saw up close what the people you're working with are capable of. I saw men, good men, die because of their actions. And now you're helping them and I… knowing that…I can barely look at you right now."

John tried to pull away but Jim just held on that much tighter. "I won't. Now that I know you have a problem, I won't do it anymore."

"You should have known I would have a problem with it!" John shouted and ripped his arm out of Jim's grip. "Christ. I must have been mad to think something between us would ever work."

John turned his back on Jim and braced himself against the bed, feeling like he might fall over. He was worked up and couldn't handle any of this shit. He wanted to just leave, walk to the door and never come back. He could, just a few short steps and he would be free. But for some reason he couldn't let go of the bed frame. He gripped it until his knuckles turned white and all he could focus on was breathing.

"We do work." Jim insisted, wrapping his arms around John from behind. "We did before."

John dropped his chin to his chest, feeling like he couldn't even support it anymore. "Please tell me you don't consider us sneaking around for three months and then you faking your death as us working."

"We can do better." Jim argued, his arms tightening around John. "I can do better."

John shook his head. "I don't see that happening."

"Give me a chance."

"I'm sorry Jim, I've given you enough chances." John finally pulled away, slipping out of Jim's embrace. "This is the one thing I can't get over and the one thing you can't fix."

"You can't do this." Jim said vehemently. "You can't just leave me now, here. You can't."

John forced himself to meet Jim's eyes, hating that the fact that Jim actually looked hurt made him waver. "Goodbye Jim." He said, forcing himself to open the door and walk through it.

* * *

Jim stood for a long time staring at the hotel door. It didn't make any sense. He had planned it all so carefully and this wasn't how it ended. And yes, he was man enough to admit the whole terrorist thing was a bit of an oversight on his part. He should have figured that between John's army background and his unwavering morality, he would have a problem with Jim working with terrorists.

But he hadn't predicted this. John wasn't just supposed to leave him in a hotel room that smelled of sex, with just a goodbye. It was unacceptable. Jim had worked too hard to let things end like that.

He pulled out his phone and dialed Moran. He picked it up on the second ring, knowing better than to let it go past that. "Hey boss."

"John left me." Jim cut to the chase. He didn't have time to mince words.

"Sorry. What do you need?"

"I need you to get him back."

"What? How am I supposed to –"

"JUST GET HIM!" Jim barked and hung up the phone. He wasn't about to stay in that room another moment. He called a car and quickly got dressed, needing to prepare for how to get John back. And this time there would be no oversights.

* * *

"Ask and you shall receive!" Jim walked over and stood in front of John. John was glaring daggers at him but that was to be expected. John was angry, which meant he was still feeling _something _for Jim. He could work with that. "Hi Johnny."

"You've got about thirty seconds to untie me." John threatened, his usual bright blue eyes dark and cold.

"Now where's the fun in that? Seb you can go." Jim dismissed him, wanting to be alone.

Sebastian got up and left without a word. Jim waited until his sniper was gone before he spoke again. Kneeling at John's feet, he placed his hands on John's thighs and looked up at him. "I wasn't going to just let you go Johnny."

John seemed to soften slightly. He sighed and shook his head in exasperation. "Christ, Jim, you couldn't even give me a day to be angry about it?"

"I couldn't risk the chance that you might make up your mind."

"I've already made up my mind."

"No," Jim slid his hands slightly up John's legs. "You haven't."

"Jim." John growled, his tone warning.

"We've never been perfect Johnny." John snorted in response. "We've never been that. But there is something here, something you can't deny."

"Why are you trying to sell me on this? I already bought all this crap, a year ago. Remember that? When we were together?"

"I haven't forgotten."

"Then why are you pitching me us? I know what _us _means!" John shouted in frustration.

"Because you don't listen." Jim jumped to his feet and began to pace. "You don't let me _explain!"_

"You have!"

"You won't let me tell you why I left. You won't let me fix things." Jim dug his fingers into his hair and pulled, feeling like his brain was trapped within his skull, needing to break out. What use was all his brilliance if it couldn't get John back? What was the point of being a genius if you couldn't use it to get your way?

"Because you can't fix everything Jim." John reasoned, struggling to get loose.

"I could if you would let me!" Jim hollered and surged forward. He gripped John's jaw and crashed their mouths together. He slipped down so he was straddling John's lap and kissed him and kissed him over and over.

Jim had never felt in control of his emotions. When he was angry, that fury boiled up inside him until there was no room for anything else. When he was sad, it was a deep depression with no end in sight. And when he loved, it consumed him. Which is why the idea of life without John made his stomach tie itself into knots.

"Johnny." Jim whimpered, pressing his lips to any part of John he could find. He quickly unbuttoned John's shirt low enough to pull it down off his left shoulder. He tentatively touched his lips to the scar, gently pressing them to the marred flesh.

"Jim." John gasped.

"I'll make it up to you." Jim whispered against John's skin. "I'll make it all up to you."

Jim's hand ran down John's chest and stomach until it settled over the zip of his jeans. John turned his head so his eyes bore straight into Jim's. The shock of intensity of that gaze sent a shiver through Jim's body. "Jim, you can't just –"

"Please." Jim dropped back down onto the floor, settling himself between John's legs. He quickly undid John's jeans and pushed them down enough that he could reach through the slit of John's underwear and pull his cock out.

John hissed through his teeth and tilted his head back. "Jim, you don't have to – to do this."

"I want to." Jim stared up at John, feeling desperate and needy and he hated it. But like every other feeling inside him, it took over until there was nothing left. Nothing but that need to be close to John, to have him and feel wanted in exchange. Jim grabbed the base of John's prick and stroked slowly. "Tell me you want this too."

John bit his bottom lip, closing his eyes, and shook his head.

"Tell me." Jim begged.

When John opened his eyes, they were shining and Jim almost gasped at how beautiful he looked. John swallowed thickly and gave the tiniest of nods. "I always want you."

"John –" Jim placed his hands on John's legs and pushed himself up so their lips could meet. The kiss was so intense it made Jim's entire body tingle as his lips moved against John's. Jim's toes curled inside his expensive Italian leather shoes as he placed his hand on the back of John's neck and deepened the kiss.

Jim reached into his pocket and pulled out his Swiss army knife. He broke away from John long enough to cut his bonds, dropping the knife onto the ground and then they were kissing again. John's arms came up and encircled Jim, holding him tightly, while Jim's fingers ran through John's hair until it stuck up at all angles.

John had to break away for a moment in order to breathe, his panting in Jim's ear a comfort. Jim slowly kissed a trail from John's jaw to his neck and then up to his ear. "Take me." Jim whispered and felt John shudder beneath him.

Gripping Jim by the backs of his thighs, John picked him up and placed him down on the floor. It was cold but Jim hardly noticed. As soon as John lied down on top of him, Jim wrapped his legs around John, keeping him as close as possible. Their lips formed together again in a searing kiss that stole the air from Jim's lungs.

John wedged his hand between them and undid Jim's trousers. He started to thrust, his cock rubbing against Jim's still trapped in his underwear. It didn't matter, the friction of it was delicious and Jim was already on edge. He scraped his fingernails down John's back, moaning against John's mouth.

It didn't last long. Jim came in his pants, his whole body trembling. John followed soon after, grunting as his release spilled between them, ruining Jim's suit. John rolled off of him and covered his arm over his face.

Jim managed to prop himself up on his elbows and look over at John. "All right?"

John shook his head, his arm still covering most of his face. Jim waited patiently while John got himself together. John dropped his arm, putting his hand on his stomach and turning his face towards Jim. "Please tell me this isn't all there is. We don't keep coming back together because the sex is fantastic right? There's got to be more to it than that, doesn't there?"

"Johnny," Jim said gently. "You and I are like the night sky."

John raised an eyebrow skeptically. "How so?"

Jim rolled over and fitted his body against John's, resting his head on his shoulder. "We're vast and complicated. We're full of shit."

They both smirked before Jim continued. "We're extraordinary and dark. We're…"

"What?" John asked, bringing his hand up and lacing his fingers through Jim's.

"Limitless."


	6. In the Dark

John had barely made it through the door to their flat, and Sherlock was already staring at him accusingly. "You went back to him, didn't you?"

John sighed and headed towards the kitchen. "Hello to you too," he responded dryly.

"This conversation does not require tea," Sherlock growled from his chair.

"I'm pretty sure it might," John shot back as he filled the kettle.

"You're stalling."

"Yep," John answered honestly.

Frustrated, Sherlock got out of his chair and stalked into the kitchen. His eyes roamed over John's body, reading everything that happened, his frown getting deeper and his eyebrows stitching together. "The rope burns on your wrists are new."

"They are."

"Considering you've come home before with such wounds after time with _him, _I cannot say for certain whether it was a wanted act or not."

"It was not."

"He kidnapped you," Sherlock inferred.

"Yes."

"Yet you're still together." Sherlock wasn't asking.

"In the broadest sense of the term." John nodded. He hated this, as if he were being interrogated. If he hadn't felt like he owed Sherlock an explanation, he would have just walked away.

"John, you can't keep both–"

"Don't," John cut him off quickly. "Don't ask me to choose."

"Why? Because you would choose him?" Sherlock snarled, advancing on John.

"Yes," John answered honestly. Sherlock looked as if he'd been slapped, stopping dead in his tracks with his eyes wide. Sighing, John scrubbed his hand over his face and then turned off the kettle. "Look Sherlock…" John started, gripping the counter tightly with his back to his flatmate, afraid to turn around.

"You don't have to explain."

"I think I do." John forced himself to turn, his hands fisted at his sides. "Jim is a lot of things –"

"Psychotic," Sherlock interjected.

John glared at him. "Are you going to let me finish?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Sherlock waved him on to continue as he leaned against the counter opposite. "He's a lot of things, but he fights for me."

"You don't think I've been fighting for you as well."

"That's not –" John shook his head and let out a deep sigh. "I don't want to be fought over. I just mean that I _know _how he feels about me. I'm sure about him the way I never am about you. So yes, today if you asked, I would pick him. But if there's one thing the two of you are good at, it's buggering things up. So I have no idea who I might pick tomorrow. That's why, ultimately, I can never choose. Because I never know which one of you is going to fuck things up or how. So don't ask, Sherlock, because you're not always going to like my answer."

Sherlock nodded and headed towards his room as if to retreat. John cut him off, grabbing hold of his arm gently. "You're still my best friend, Sherlock. And that isn't nothing, you know?"

"I know." Sherlock nodded tersely and slid out of John's grasp. John couldn't help wincing when the door to Sherlock's room was closed. He'd made a right mess of that, and he stood in the kitchen with his eyes closed with no idea what to do next.

* * *

John was laying on his bed, unable to sleep after his terrible conversation with Sherlock. He was about to give up and go watch telly when his mobile chimed. Reaching out in the dark, John grabbed it and opened up the next text message.

Come downstairs. I have a treat for you. -JM

Considering he had nothing better to do, John rolled his eyes and got out of bed. He stumbled around, just grabbing the first pair of jeans and jumper he could find and slipping them on. With a yawn, he headed downstairs as quietly as possible. Not that it mattered if Sherlock knew he was sneaking out. But John would rather not be confronted with Sherlock's usual look of judgement and disapproval.

When he got outside the flat, a black sedan was idling by the kerb. John immediately reached for the door, expecting to find Jim inside. Instead, he found nothing but an empty back seat. His mobile chimed again.

Get in. JM

Rolling his eyes at Jim's apparent omniscience, John slid inside and closed the door after him. The car immediately pulled away from 221B, and John wondered - as he did with so many moments involving Jim - if he would come to regret this.

Where are you? -JW

Waiting for you. -JM

Waiting for me WHERE -JW

Patience, Johnny. Patience. -JM

John sighed and shoved his mobile back into his pocket. He stared out the window and was eventually lulled to sleep by the monotony of the drive and the lateness of the hour.

* * *

John was awoken hours later by the familiar feeling of lips on his. "Wake up, sleepyhead," Jim murmured against John's lips before kissing him again.

"How long was I out?" John inquired, stretching out. He was still in the back of the sedan, having laid out sideways across the seat. Jim was settled on top of him, pressing kisses to his lips randomly.

"A while," Jim disclosed, sliding off John and then grabbing his hand to tug him up.

"Where are we?" John asked as he rubbed his eyes.

"You'll spoil the surprise, Johnny!" Jim chastized, leading John into what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse.

"You seem to know a lot of abandoned buildings," John pointed out while Jim unlocked the door.

"It's part of what I do." Jim shrugged and gestured John inside. John couldn't see a thing as he first stepped into the warehouse. He tried to let his eyes adjust to the dark.

"Jim?" he called out softly, reaching out for the man who had brought him here.

"Surprise!" Jim shouted excitedly and the lights came on to reveal a man tied and gagged to a chair.

"Jim, what the fuck is going on?" John asked, heading forward with the intent to untie the poor man.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Jim warned, and John stopped moving before whirling around to confront Jim.

"You have about five seconds to tell me what the _hell _you're playing at," John threatened with a growl, striding over to where Jim was standing.

"It's a present for you."

"You got me a man tied up to a chair. How thoughtful," John quipped.

"I thought you might like it." Jim smirked and walked over to the man, putting his hands on his shoulders. The man jerked in fear at the touch, his eyes pleading at John. "This man is named David Flemming. He came to me about a week ago and _begged _me to help him with a little problem he's been having. See David here run a human trafficking outfit in which underage girls are given to lecherous men for the evening."

John's eyes widened as he heard this, and all sympathy he'd had for this man was suddenly gone.

"He's having a little trouble smuggling in some new girls from the Sudan and wants me to help."

"Why am I here, Jim?" John asked, narrowing his eyes. He didn't like the sound of any of this, and he wasn't about to help participate in what this man was doing.

"I want you to kill him," Jim told John bluntly.

"I'm sorry?" John asked, assuming he must have misheard.

Jim released his grip on Flemming and walked over to John. "I had this funny sort of feeling that you were upset with me over that whole terrorist thing."

"Yeah, no shit," John replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I'm offering you a chance to restore some goodness to world and take away some evil."

"I'm not killing him."

"Then I'll have no choice but to help him," Jim shot back. He reached into his coat and pulled out a Browning just like the one John carried. "The choice is yours. You either kill this man or I'll have to take his very generous offer." Jim shoved the gun into John's hands and moved to stand behind. "Think about how much good you'll be doing, how many young girls you'll be saving just by pulling a little trigger, just once."

"Why are you doing this?" John hissed, aiming the gun at Flemming.

"You need to understand," Jim said, sliding his hands down John's arms until he was holding the gun with him. "This is the decisions I make on a daily basis. Do you let this man live, knowing what he is? Somebody has to keep the criminals of this town in line. Without me, they'd all be running about, doing whatever they please. This is it, Johnny. This is the decision. I don't pretend what I do is noble, but you knew that when you made the choice to be with me. Yet you seem very quick to judge me when we both know you've killed before. I've never pretended to be anything except what I am, and you were fully aware of that when this started. Maybe you should ask yourself why you keep coming back." The gun remained perfectly steady in John's hands as Jim moved his own around the encircle John's waist. "You like it. You like it in the darkness with me."

John's lips were pressed together. He stared at Flemming, taking in everything he was. Even so, he hesitated, his finger just barely squeezing the trigger. John took a deep breath and exhaled. "You've made your point."

"Not until you pull the trigger I haven't," Jim argued, whispering against John's ear and making him shiver. "Do you think this man deserves to live?"

"No, I don't."

"Then kill him." Jim shrugged. "Or do you need a little extra incentive? Do you want to know how he got started in this business? After his wife died he couldn't pay the rent so he started selling his daughter to his buddies for a fee."

John closed his eyes and swallowed hard. The moment they snapped open John was pulling the trigger. Flemming died instantly, but John was already rounding on Jim, holding the gun against the consulting criminal's temple.

"What are you doing, Johnny?" Jim asked, amused more than scared.

"When we first shagged-"

"I remember," Jim interrupted with a smirk.

"Why were you at the pub that night? Did you know I was going to be there? Mycroft said you bugged our flat. Did you plan the entire thing? Wait until I was vulnerable so you could take advantage of me," John demanded to know, pressing the gun harder into Jim's skin.

"You flatter me, John. You really think I could plan something like that? I could never have known you would be interested in sex with me," Jim reasoned.

"It's quite a coincidence, you being there that night," John said suspiciously with narrowed eyes.

"Okay, yes, I knew you frequented that pub. But that wasn't why I went there. I was looking for a pub, and I happened upon that one. I recognized the name and so I went in. It wasn't until I saw you that I realized why."

John was still unsure if he could believe him. There was a time when John trusted Jim, but that was before he had faked his death.

"I have no reason to lie to you," Jim told him softly.

John chewed his bottom lip as he mulled it over. "Get on your knees," John growled.

Jim grinned and slid down until he was kneeling in front of John. "I had envisioned this the other way around, but this is just as good," Jim confessed, undoing John's trousers and fishing him out of his underwear. "Is this from the adrenaline or do you just get off on holding guns?" Jim asked, teasingly lapping at the tip of John's already half-hard cock.

"A bit of both I guess," John confessed, sinking his other hand into Jim's hair.

"I knew there was a reason I liked you," Jim joked before taking the head into his mouth and stimulating it with his mouth. John moaned and began to harden against Jim's tongue.

"Just one reason?" John inquired with a quirked eyebrow.

Jim pulled off and started pressing kisses up the side of the shaft. "Maybe a couple of reasons," Jim conceded, working his way back to the tip. He swirled his tongue around the glans and then swallowed John down. John threw his head back and groaned up at the ceiling. Jim hummed around John's cock and began to bob his head quickly. John's grip in Jim's hair tightened as he was lost in the overwhelming heat of Jim's mouth.

"J-Jim..." John moaned out, already close to coming. Jim knew this and sucked John even harder, hollowing his cheeks. John was on the brink and threw the gun down, not wanting any accidents. He gripped Jim's hair with both hands and began to thrust into that perfect mouth, knowing Jim could take it. John cried out Jim's name as his cum flooded his lover's mouth.

As soon as he was spent, he tugged Jim up and kissed him deeply. Jim went willingly, wrapping his arms around John and holding him tightly. "Don't ever do that to me again," John demanded, burying his face in Jim's neck.

"What, suck you off?"

"You know what I meant, you arsehole."

"I do but you clearly enjoyed it," Jim pointed out. "Come on, Johnny. Take a walk on the wild side."

"Don't." John pulled away and tucked himself back into his trousers. "Just don't, Jim."

"What did I say?" Jim asked, reaching out for John but he backed away.

"Do you think I like that I have this in me?" John shouted, walking forward and shoving Jim angrily. "Do you think I enjoy knowing that I have the capacity to kill? That I'm good at it? That I can take a life without my hand shaking at all?"

"What's the big deal? It makes you interesting."

"Maybe to you, Jim," John said, heading towards the door. "To everyone else, it just makes me a murderer." John opened up the door and stepped through before slamming it shut, leaving Jim alone in the dark.


End file.
